Let Sleeping Sins Lie
by sakurasencha
Summary: The spirits are restless. There is unfinished business at Downton Abbey, and an unlikely pair must discover what sins lie sleeping in its hallowed halls before it can claim another life. Murder mystery AU.


_I have no idea where this came from. Well, that's not true, I have some idea (Highclere Forum!). I really wanted to spend my weekend writing about Sybil and Branson, but instead this came out. I'm not sure why._

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><p><strong>Prologue: Death Becomes Him<strong>

_It had started peacefully enough. _

_The setting sun cast dark shadows over the grounds as he rode across the lawn. Where he was going he could not say; his direction was just as aimless as his purpose, but he could feel the cool breeze on his face as he increased to a gallop, and any lingering thoughts of destination were pushed aside as he beheld the unequaled verdure of the English countryside._

_He continued his ride – for minutes or hours, it was hard to say – until the sun had long since dipped past the horizon and the only company left to him was the scant moonlight shining overhead, the silver beams bending familiar daytime shapes into strange and eerie distortions. _

_A bend in the rode was seen a second too late. He pulled at the reigns fiercely to make the curve, but only succeeded in throwing himself forcefully from his horse. Pitched several yards forward, he met the ground with a painful crack as the sound of his mount's hooves charging down the path grew ever more distant. _

_Alone, injured; the quiet inhale and exhale of his breath was the only sound to disturb the unnatural silence. Even his heartbeat, although pounding rapidly, could not break the deathly still that surrounded him. He gingerly pushed himself up to his knees and tried to assess the damage. A few prods to his sore ankle revealed to him that it was no doubt sprained, and that walking back to Downton would not be an option._

_What options he did have, he wasn't sure. It was well into night, and he assumed that eventually his absence would be noticed and a search party would be commissioned. What had he to do besides wait and be found? He settled himself as comfortably as he could on the cold, hard ground, and hoped that aid would not be too long in coming._

_Time passed – minutes or hours, it was hard to say –and thoughts of rescue were slowly forgotten as the moonlight dimmed and he looked up at the sky. He was surprised that he hadn't noticed how cloudy it had become. Hadn't the moon been full and clear just moments before? Now dense clouds were quickly eclipsing what glow had been offered, the once bright moonbeams vanishing with alarming speed, until the last ray remaining dwindled into utter black._

_Silence. Darkness. _

"_Breathe," he reminded himself._

_Inhale. Exhale._

_A stiff wind suddenly blew, a soundless current bearing with it a chill that not even his thick riding coat could withstand. He shivered, and looked to the wind's source. In the distance he saw three figures emerge, their forms materializing without origin out of the inky air. His first instinct was to call out to them, inform them of his distress. He opened his mouth to speak as the bodies drew nearer, revealing themselves._

_A woman clad neck to toe in black, red blood oozing from the hole at her temple. _

_A maid with vacant, bulging eyes, a noose wound tightly round her throat. _

_A young man with face and hands like ice, his whole body dripping with water. _

"_Dead," he whispered. "They're all dead." _

_He scrambled backwards, but with abnormal speed the corpses descended on him, reached for him, grabbed and held tightly to his neck and arms and legs. They began pulling, pulling him down, back to the hollow graves whence they came, while he screamed and kicked in vain for his freedom. Down and down and down he went, his mouth filling with mud and worms and feeling the scrape of rocks and death against his flesh until –_

Kemal Pamuk jolted upright from his bed, his arms raised in defense and a startled cry on his lips. Bright sunlight slanted through the uncovered window, bathing his drowsy eyes and triggering a verbal wince. His breath ran ragged and his palms seeped sweat, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he wasn't extremely relieved it had all been a dream.

_Or rather, a nightmare_, he thought idly, the ghastly images resurfacing unbidden to his mind.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the wardrobe in search of his dressing gown, more than a little disoriented. Last night's activities must have been much more…eventful…than usual. The last place he remembered being was Lady Mary's bedroom, deep in the throes of passion. To suddenly wake in his own room in the bachelor's corridor, no memory of how he got from there to here, was both perplexing and disconcerting. He'd sort the details out later, he decided, opening the wardrobe doors with a loud creak. His eyes widened in shock.

It was completely empty.

No shirts, no coats, no trousers, and certainly no dressing gown. A shot of anger coursed through Kemal at what looked to be a comeuppance of the first footman's doing.

"That ungrateful wretch," he seethed. "How dare he!" He stalked angrily to the door and, in passing the mirror, was forced to stare in shock a second time.

He was completely dressed.

Dress shirt, tuxedo coat, fine trousers; even his shoes were on, fine Italian leather polished to gleaming brilliance on his feet. Confusion was the prevailing thought, both at why he was dressed and how he had failed to notice that fact until now. Despite the uneasy strangeness of it all, he couldn't stop his lips from curving into a smug smile at his complete lack of memory of what must have been the most impressive of his conquests yet. He made a mental note to compliment Lady Mary later.

Still annoyed at the audacity of his temporary valet, and impatient for answers, he smothered any other unsettling thoughts and left the room.

"You there!" he called to pair of passing maids just outside, arms laden with linen. "Where can I find that first footman, the one acting as my valet?" he asked, shutting the door behind him. The maids gave a startled jump, and the dark haired one turned to the other to speak.

"Stop playing around, Ethel! You nearly frightened me half to death!"

"It wasn't me!" the redhead insisted. "Didn't you see it? The door, it opened and closed on its own!"

"You think I'm really daft enough to believe that?" Lily scoffed. "If you've time enough to play games, then I'll let Mrs. Hughes know so she can decide which extra chores you'll be having!"

"I didn't do nothing!" Ethel continued her defense. "And please, Lily, don't say anything to Mrs. Hughes! I'm in enough trouble as it is…" Their voices trailed off as the two maids descended the stairs, passing by Kemal as if he wasn't even there.

_Is the entire Downton staff insufferably impertinent?_ he thought to himself with a huff, his opinion of Lady Grantham's household management considerably lowered. He was a bit overdressed for breakfast, but was tired of the shenanigans of the lower set and determined to confine his next remarks to a person of respectability. When he entered the dining parlor, he found the family already seated, their plates nearly finished.

"Lord and Lady Grantham! I hope I'm not too late for breakfast. I've had the most extraordinary morning," he opened with a handsome smile.

The Earl continued reading his newspaper, his Lady chatting affably with her eldest daughter. Neither took any note of his greeting. Kemal thought the rebuff a somewhat harsh repayment for a mere tardy arrival, and turned to address someone who might find his late morning habits a bit less offensive.

"Good morning, Lady Sybil," Kemal crooned, swaggering over to stand opposite her. "I don't see Mr. Napier here; has he already finished with breakfast?"

The youngest Crawley daughter didn't raise her eyes to his at the question, nor did she inform him of the whereabouts of his friend, choosing instead to scoop another small bite of egg into her mouth and stare listlessly out the window. Kemal was growing just as irritated with the masters as he had been with the servants, and finally focused his attentions on the one person who was sure to return them.

"Lady Mary," he said coyly, "how do you do this morning?"

His paramour gave no hint that she had heard him, but only answered her mother's question about which wedding dress she had finally decided on. _Since when has Lady Mary been engaged?_ he wondered, a baffled expression on his face. An avalanche of brusque questions dropped from his lips, his volume increasing with every query, but neither father, mother, nor daughters paid him the slightest heed. _They continue on as though I'm not even here. It's almost as if –_

Kemal's voice ground to a halt and his jaw dropped as the realization violently struck him.

"They can't hear me," he whispered.

The pieces began to click in place. No family, however rich or powerful, could possible be this rude. He walked slowly around the table, testing his next theory, and was distressed to see it quickly proven as none of the seated occupants regarded his tour, and how they each looked blankly at the unseen hand he waved in front of their faces.

"They can't…they can't even see me!"

The floor seemed to give way and the room spin dangerously with the full force of the comprehension. Kemal was left vainly gasping for air on deflated lungs and constricted throat. He staggered in place, his mind dizzy with disbelief and shock. Was this a cruel joke? Was he going mad?

Nausea mixed with an urgent restlessness bore him from the parlor and sent him frantically from room to room, aimless and purposeless, like the haunting dream-ride of the night before. Along the corridors and through the hallways he passed by footman, maid, and hall-boy alike; none of them acknowledged his presence; none of them evinced proof of his existence with bow or curtsey. He was invisible, an apparition floating through the busy halls of Downton Abbey where not a soul could see him.

His wandering led him to a cold back room, where he huddled in an empty corner and cradled his head desperately between his hands.

"They can't see me, they can't see me!" he repeated over and over, his hands raked through his hair and pulling fiercely. Hot tears bled from his eyes, whether from the painful stinging in his scalp or the cold dread pounding his heart, he knew not. Pent up confusion and terror tore relentlessly at his battered mind, till he could take no more, and a strangled cry wrenched from his throat.

"WHY CAN'T ANYONE SEE ME?"

The cry of release unleashed a heavy and eerie calm. The echo of his voice subsided, absorbed into the walls of the lonely room that lay silent, still, and waiting.

"I can see you," came a small, fearful voice from behind.

Kemal whipped around to find its owner: a slight, trembling girl in a candy striped dress, a plain and dirty apron over top. She was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, her chest heaving with terrified bursts of breath.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I…I'm Daisy. Daisy Robinson," she stuttered between gasps with a voice quivering in terror. She raised a shaky hand to point directly at Kemal.

"And you…you've been dead for eight years!"

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><p><em>So yes, this is a murder mystery involving Ghost Kemal and Daisy. I actually have the whole thing plotted in my head, which came to me in the middle of a nap, but things are busy so we'll see if I finish it! Also this is unedited so if you see any mistakes feel free to berateinform me about it in a pm._


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